Jeremy
by Alternate Pops
Summary: Even if the morrow is barren of promises, nothing shall forestall my return. Had I known of those words’ significance to him, maybe I’d have seen the beginning of the events that unfolded. - Jeremy "REVAMPED". xD Warnings inside.


This IS my story. I just shifted it from one account to another. You'll notice the original was taken down. That was ME who did that. Hahaha. I'm sorry for all the confusion. My other account is still up and running though, so check it out for your other fixes. *grins*

Good LORD. I've never written anything like this before. EVER. Was inspired by the song "Jeremy" by Pearl Jam. If you haven't heard it, get out from underneath the rock you've been living under and GO LISTEN TO IT NOW.

Read the warnings before going any further. Kthnx.

**Warnings: I've lost the plot, AU I guess you could say. Dark angst, violence, language, blood loss,**_** implications of **_**character death etc. Yes, this may very well be a multi~chap. ;o**

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_Through the eyes of a classmate._

**--**

I don't think any of us had heard him speak.

First day he'd come in, the teacher had introduced him and he stood staring out blankly at us like we were something he'd never be fully able to understand, like a foreign text spread out before him in polished uniforms and curious gazes. New people didn't often come to this town, and this kid… Well… he wasn't one of us. For one thing, he was dressed differently. He came to school in leather rather than black pants like the rest of us, and whenever the teachers asked him about it, he'd just shrug, wouldn't say a word. Then he'd sit in detention with the rest of us and gaze out the windowsill with those same dream-like eyes he'd had the very first time we'd seen him.

He wasn't the same as the rest of us.

It wasn't just the fact that he was so distant from everything that the rest of us liked, like the occasional game of soccer, or a conversation over the chocobo races, but it was the fact that he didn't even have to _like_ what we were doing to be better at it than we were. He was faster than everyone, stronger, smarter, and I guess a lot of us didn't know how to deal with that kind of an immediate threat. I remember hearing the teachers' talk at times of what a handsome young man he was, and I guess it was true. Auburn hair and crystal blue eyes were yet another threat added to the list, and he managed to use them as weapons when he saw fit. I heard some of the girls talk of mystique, and apparently that was what drew about the allure.

None of us could have ever been that charming without a single upturn of our lips.

I remember being called to the blackboard by the teacher, a LOVELESS quote scrawled across the blackness in a cursive script that even I had difficulty in reading. Many of the others in the class had the same look of confusion across their faces as I did. The only one who didn't was him. He was staring at it like something in his brain had just clicked over and a door into his very soul opened up. The quote was _"Even if the morrow is barren of promises, nothing shall forestall my return" _It's burnt into my mind, and there would be a reason that I would never forget it.

I don't think any of us had seen him smile. But he did that day.

The reason it was unforgettable, was that it lacked any sense of mirth, or love, or laughter. It was cold, and it was calculating, and it sent a chill through my very spine. Had I known of those words' significance to him, maybe I'd have seen the beginning of the events that unfolded.

Yeah, he was different. An oddball, a freak, an outcast. He'd come to school dirty at times, covered in oils, or pastels, or paints. He was an artist in his own way. His skill was not debatable; His talent far surpassed anyone in the school, and yet his images often caused others to turn away. They were graphic, of dark shadows and hideous beasts, of mass death and destruction, of blood-spilling, and of chaos. They were of giant collisions with heavenly beings, of horrible experimentations and of corrupted vengeance withheld until glorified moments came to be. If he wasn't drawing, he had his head in a book, isolated from the world as he softly mouthed the words of some sonnet or long forgotten verse. The counselor had taken him aside on many occassions. Sometimes he'd be gone for hours, and she'd return with him, his face blank, but his eyes alive with hatred and a dark and lingering amusement. He'd slip back into his seat as the counselor exchanged concerned words with our teacher, who would look at him and frown. She'd then look on in a form of some disinterested detachment and resignation, before disregarding him completely. He got that a lot. People stared at him, and they rarely smiled. You learnt after the first time that your efforts were fruitless.

I can remember him sitting outside the counselor's office once, his knees pulled up to his chest as he gazed out one of the high windows in the hall. The counselor had brought his parents to the school, and there were more than a few kids willing to linger around for a glimpse of what kind of parents the kid had. Maybe they were expecting some kind of alien life forms. Maybe they were expecting them to be just like him. The truth was, we never really knew. I caught a look at them. His father looked didn't look a thing like him. He was much taller, with a stronger facial structure and broader shoulders. He wore a freshly pressed suit, and his shoes were polished to an extent that I could see his pant cuffs reflected in their surface. He looked like the type you might find on the Midgar upper plate, not that any of us really knew in a country town like this. His mother though? She was a thin, frail woman, with the same distant and detached eyes as her boy. Wherever she was, it wasn't in that counselor's office.

And he sure as hell wasn't sitting in the hallway beside the door.

"…I heard he was adopted, that his real parents didn't want him…"

"…I think he's just a freak… He's not normal, you know?"

"…He looks… funny…"

The guesses, the rumours, the speculation- it gathered and it spread like wildfire. He'd walk down a hall and the whispers would follow him, even as he turned a cold shoulder to any that approached him. People said he came from Shinra; that he was a special breed of super kid. Most of those theories came from parents that had claimed they saw the boy arrive by Shinra transport. It wasn't hard to get caught up in the hype. You know how kids are… If one of them is doing something, everyone has to.

They'd cornered him one day; backing him slowly against a wall as they flung taunts at him, forced rumours upon him, interrogated him. I'd joined in, making casual remarks about him not having the ability to fit in, letting him know just what the rest of the school thought of him. He remained silent, his back edging closer to wall as his face remained blank, his bright blue eyes avoiding contact with ours. He was a little mouse trapped in the headlights, looking for a way out. He was harmless as a fucking fly. Until his back hit the wall and he realised he was trapped. If there was any saying that would stick with me for life, this would be it: The most dangerous animal in the woods is a wounded one. We'd had no idea what we'd done when we'd backed him into that corner, until the mouse became a lion, and he lashed out at us with a fury that no one had ever seen coming.

I'd lain sprawled across the ground once his fist had hit me. He'd shaken me up; he'd left my jaw aching and my ears ringing. I'd spat out a mouthful of blood, shock not allowing me to utter anything. I was one of the lucky ones. The counselor had had to pry him off of Carter Jameson, after he'd beaten Carter so severely that he'd fractured the guy's skull in four places.

We'd unleashed a monster.

I still remember the counselor and the headmaster pulling him away, a maniacal grin spread across his lips, blood dripping from a split in his head, sliding down his face, and staining his leather coat an even darker shade of crimson. He couldn't have cared less. He'd been alive in that moment, and we'd all seen it. He thirsted for violence, and he thrived off of power. He'd been suspended for three days, and returned as silent as ever.

Nobody ever spoke to him about it again.

Sick of the rumours and speculation and thirsty for some gossip, Josh McIntyre had broken into the counselor's office and nabbed his file. We'd sat in silence as McIntyre read it out, our faces turning slowly to meet each other's gazes, as a mixture of horror and guilt flooded us. Physically abused, neglected, abandoned, ignored. Moved from town to town for not fitting in, fending for himself, feeding himself, cleaning for himself. It was all that his life had consisted of, and he'd come to this school and received nothing but the same treatment. He _had_ come from Midgar, but been separated from his only friend, a boy called Angeal. They were both meant to come here, but something happened that the kid wouldn't talk about. All the reports had were disjointed sentences, with words that made no sense to us, and apparently made no sense to the counselor. Jenova, Sephiroth, Hojo, Gast, they were all words that effectively meant nothing, but apparently meant the world to him. All we knew was that he'd come here with the loss of a friend, and we'd given him no chance to make any others. We'd been stoking the fire, until the next day the flames burnt out of control.

He walked into class that morning, and stood at the front of the room. Everyone sat down, and when the teacher instructed him to do the same, he shook his head. The room fell silent.

"What's the problem, Mister Rhapsodos?" The teacher had asked in apparent boredom, and he'd slid a well concealed sword from a sheath beneath his coat. Teacher had stifled her scream with her hands, before a slow smile crept along his lips, his fingers trailing the hilt almost lovingly. Dark eyes rose to meet the rest of ours, as several sheltered behind their desks, screams ringing loud and clear. He stood there, all of our attention solely focused on him, not a single pair of eyes straying from his. He moved a hand along the blade, illuminating it with red cursives that none other could read, and flaring his eyes with a fascination that held a dark intensity I'm not sure I was willing to explain. At that moment, with that sword held firmly in his hand, he was a king. His power was unbeatable. His word was absolute. His smile stretched slightly, as he softly cleared his throat.

"Even if the morrow is barren of promises, nothing shall forestall _my_ return," He said quietly, before sweeping the sword in an elegant fashion. The blade severed the abdomen of our teacher as the blood sprayed across pale skin and auburn hair, a smirk licking at thin lips as another three fell in several controlled swipes of the blade.

"The world needs a new hero," I heard him murmur, crystal blue latching onto mine, as my blood ran cold, "But today, it is neither you nor I."

He raised the sword, defiant in its arch through the air, before the next piercing blow caught my breath in my throat. My stomach tightened impulsively, as I felt something warm slide down my face.

I reached a shaking hand and wiped blood from my forehead.

I watched, as his body fell in an arch to the floor, a soft smile slipping along his lips, as his blood slowly drained from his body.

I remember sitting there, and I remember thinking that nobody here would ever forget this. Nobody here would ever live another day of their lives without that slowly creeping smile sliding through their sub-consciousness, and I remember thinking that he'd gotten what he'd always wanted.

He'd left a legend and a lesson that would never be erased from the minds of this generation. He'd left a mark that none of his paintings ever would. He'd left more impact in that one quote, than an entire year's worth of conversation in class would ever have imprinted.

I don't think any of us had heard him speak before in class, or outside, or even in the halls.

We all got sent home, and my mother had embraced me, showering me with kisses, as my own vacant eyes stared at her. She brushed my hair back and kissed my forehead, tears streaming down her face. She asked me, if I could handle it, to tell her what had happened. The school, she said, had not informed them well enough, and she was worrying for me, worrying for the others, especially since the Shinra science department had lingered in the halls for hours that day.

I answered her in the only way I could.

"Genesis spoke in class today… And we finally listened…"

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**A/N**: Uhm… Yeah… xD


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